


Hiding in Plain Sight

by CaesariDiffidimus



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Marvel Universe, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Slow Burn, Thor: The Dark World, friendly toward all Marvel Movie characers except maybe Vision, implications of non-con in ch1, loki is using a human guise the majority of the time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-09 18:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14721218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesariDiffidimus/pseuds/CaesariDiffidimus
Summary: Loki escapes Asgards prisons (post Dark World) and seeks refuge on earth under the guise of a human. He was keeping his head down until Iron man accidentally injures him and feels obligated both by morality and duty to help him. Tony becomes sweet on him, Loki knows it can't happen and is actively trying to stop it, but he can't seem to unknot the feeling in his gut any better than Tony can.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not edited, chiefly because I'm a lazy piece of shit. So if you find errors, that would be the perfect time to go ahead and keep it to yourself, because I'm definitely too lazy to go back and fix it. 
> 
> More than likely this one (moreso than my others) will have subsequent chapters. I actually have an entire plan for this one (shocking I know). Not sure how long it will be, but shit will happen, and then that's all I know.

 Loki watched the Avengers from afar. People had massed around them, seeming to come from nowhere, just to glimpse New York’s heroes. They were not his favorite people in the world, but he liked to occasionally be in the same vicinity as his brother. If they were to chance upon each other, excluding the fact the Thor would not recognize him behind his human guise, he knew Thor would be, at first, angry, then almost simultaneously, kind, and compassionate as he always was to his younger brother. Always the good one—always forgiving. He also knew that is he were to face his brother, he would surely say something snarky, something unkind, perhaps even _do_ something unkind, and he had no idea why, it was an uncontrollable inheritance in his very fiber that urged him to do these things, to be this way. At this moment in time every single living being in The Nine hated Loki, son of no one, for his crimes against them—for his nature in general, but not Thor. No, Thor, no matter the trickery done unto him by the Jotun, loved his brother, and would see him well. It hurt him to see him punished by Odin, to his chained and put in the dungeons, and Loki could see that in his face. Watching his brother now he almost wished he could unveil himself and embrace his kin, his blood, but he knew he couldn’t, maybe never could again, seeing as Thor was charged with finding, and apprehending Loki.

   Loki had escaped imprisonment, escaped Asgard, and after a maze of worlds, and realms, and traps, and rouses, and a maze of pocket dimensions, all to lose the eye of Heimdall, he had come to earth, hoping it would both be the first, and last place anyone would look for him, relying on thus to cause anyone looking for him to question themselves, and their plan. Surely Loki would not return to earth! But of course, he would, it would be the last place he would think we’d look for him. Ah, dear hypothetical mercenary charged with obtaining the prisoner-god, surely he assumed you _will_ think that, travel to earth, spend years looking for him, when all the while he’s in an entirely different realm. Pish posh, so simple minded, naturally he would _assume_ that _we_ would assume, that _he_ would assume, that _we_ would assume that he’d go to earth, assuming we’d think he didn’t not _not_ go to earth, but in fact, dear friends, went to earth. The simplicity in and of itself was the rouse, and therefore, Loki hoped no one would find him here. On occasion Thor had seen through his guises, but once he guessed, or rather, seemed suspicious, Loki would give in and transform back to himself, in any potential coming situation where that may happen, he would not give himself away, and Thor’s suspicions would dissipate when coupled with self-doubt.

   The crowd hooted and cheered, and Loki suddenly realized he hadn’t been paying attention at all. Something had happened that he couldn’t see, they killed someone, tore apart a robot, shit a gold brick, who knew, but the crowd was a cacophony of euphoric worship. Suddenly he realized he was quite bored with this, but before he could weave his way out of the gridlock of vehicles and people, an inhumanly strong hand shoved him out of the way. The sound of crunching metal, oohing and awing of impressionable humans, followed by more cheering, and then lastly the distinct ‘ _hnggg’_ of the Avengers most volatile, and assuredly most vain, member’s suite. Loki scowled up at him, feeling his own vexation well in his chest. Admittedly, the man had defensively pushed him out of the way of a large chunk of stone that had been dislodged from one of the adjacent buildings, and would have squashed the disguised deity flat, had Iron Man _not_ done that, but this small truth didn’t quell Loki’s embarrassment, or his general dishevelment.

   Tony Stark had set the rubble down and hopped off the vehicle, which was now absolutely destroyed, and sauntered over to where Loki struggled to right himself. A hand jutted in front of Loki’s face, extending aid, while another hand rested on his shoulder gently, coaxing him upward. Loki, in his human form, was more susceptible to injury, and overall, weaker. His ribs ached, shooting pain though his chest, the sockets his legs had, before, fluidly moved in, were stiff and throbbing, and his right arm felt tingly, and far too hot. He ignored the hand in front of his face, silently requesting to help him up, and shimmied his way up the dented vehicle behind him.

   “Oh, shit,” the Iron Man cursed. His faceplate hissed and seemingly dissolved in on itself, revealing a sweat-sheen, tan faced, dark haired man, with opaque, dark circles around his eyes. Loki had met Tony once, he’d offered him a drink, just before he threw him out of Stark Tower, to plummet 80 stories down to the city’s floor. The hand reached out again but recoiled slowly when Loki flinched from his touch. It had been an uncontrollable reaction, and honestly, Loki wasn’t sure why he did it. He didn’t fear the man of iron, he didn’t fear any of them.

   “You’re bleeding,” Tony said, a concerned look in his eyes; brows slightly furrowed. Loki patted his arm tentatively, searching for the wound. He found the blood, as it was everywhere, but he couldn’t feel, or see the wound. He looked back at Tony and nodded once, not knowing what to say, but feeling dumb for saying nothing. Tony pushed his mouth to one side thoughtfully and attempted to reach out his hand once more. This time Loki did not flinch, but he wanted to. “Here, step over here, I’ll check you out.” He spoked slowly as if he were unsure of what he was saying, unsure why he didn’t just call an ambulance.

   Loki watched him carefully, suspiciously. The other man hadn’t tried to touch him again, but merely gestured in which direction he wished Loki to go. With some effort, they made there way to the sidewalk where Tony waved people away, then motioned for Loki to lean against a trash can which was bolted to the sidewalk. Loki obeyed, never taking his eyes off the scientist-mathematician turned vigilante, turned hero. “I’m sorry about that,” the Avenger said, breaking through Loki’s brief lapse in thoughts. Tony’s eyes flicked up to meet his, while his fingers deftly crawled there way up and down his arm. “The adrenaline makes it difficult to know how hard I’m gonna hit something,” he finished lamely, void of his usual confidence.

   “I have been hit harder,” Loki found himself saying, “I assure you it’s not a big deal.” He was rewarded with a relieved smirk, and a sharp pain in his bicep. Loki hissed and clinched his jaw, his fists clenching and unclenching. Tony’s eye twitched as he leaned back and observed the wound, to anyone else it may have looked like anxiety or stress, but Loki could feel an amicable connection to the man of iron that one sometimes wordlessly feels in their belly, and under their skin, and in the core of their chest when they meet someone who shares similar proclivities and nature, because of this Loki knew it was a natural reaction to the sleep deprivation one suffers when one obsesses over one’s projects.

   “You’re gonna need stitches. You might have torn muscle in there, but I can’t tell for sure.” Tony resigned himself, wiping his bloody hands on his suit before realizing the metal would not absorb the liquid like clothes would. Loki watched him curiously. His gaze must have intimidated the shorter man because his cheeks were suddenly flush, and his eyes took on an opaque sheen, and Loki deduced the other man felt awkward, or perhaps flustered.

   “Right, great, that’s…” Tony gave him a metal thumbs up, “that’s, yes… the hospital… you should go to the hospital. Yep…uh…yes. Hospital.” Loki watched the younger man stumble through his sentence, and couldn’t help a pitiful smile tug at the corner of his mouth, to which Tony huffed out a nervous laugh, resting his hands on his hips. “A smile, great, that’s—great. Smile means you don’t uh…hate me, and you also paralytic, which I was beginning to think since you don’t move or say much.” He said the secondary reasoning for the smile being reassuring with the sterility of a scientific explanation, or a mathematic equation. Tony clasped his hands together when Loki didn’t say anything. “Cool, cool, cool… cool. Right, so definitely get to the hospital.” He smiled a strange smile, and turned to leave, taking several steps before stopping and wiping a metal hand down his face, sighing.

Loki watched him curiously, his head cocked to the side slightly. This is not how he would have imagined the Iron Man, much less an Avenger, behaving. It was intriguing, namely because Loki could feel, nagging at the back of his mind, and in the pit of his stomach, that he was missing something.

Tony turned around on his heels and, face still flushed, walked back to Loki, his footing sure, and stuff. “The hospital. I should probably take you to uh…to the hospital huh? ‘Cause you can’t walk, right?” It was seemingly a rhetorical question because he didn’t give Loki any time to answer before talking again. “You can’t walk. And it would take a while for an ambulance to get here through this traffic,” he waved a hand at the cars around them. “We’d have to fly though, well not you and me, but you and Vision. I can’t…” he trailed off, staring into Loki’s eyes for long enough that it was Loki who felt overwhelmed and looked away this time. “It…I have to use my hands to… to fly. So… yeah, so Vision.”

   Loki chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously, still not making eye contact with Earth’s favorite prince when he spoke. “Where is the hospital from here?” he asked.

   “A good fifteen blocks that way,” Tony said, pointing eastward.

   Loki sighed in defeat. He couldn’t teleport because Ton seemingly wanted to make certain he got to the hospital, and he couldn’t very well do that in front of him under the guise of a human. And Tony was right, he couldn’t walk that far, his hips and pelvis hurt something fierce, and his arm was bleeding enough that he felt nauseous and tired.

   Loki finally looked up at the younger man, Tony’s arms were crossed, and his brow was knit in a concerned pattern that made Loki uncomfortable. This type of attention was foreign to him, and to make it even more strange was that it was an Avenger giving him the attention. He wanted to cross his arms over his chest to feel safer, more in control, but his arm hurt too much to move.

   “If you wouldn’t mind helping me down the street away from this,” he waved a hand in the air as if to gesture to anything and everything that was going on. “I could call an ambulance and have them pick me up from somewhere clear of this.” Loki was not opposed to flying, but he found himself fearing that the oddity that was Vision might know who he was, might see through his guise. He had never met the AI in person, but since being on earth, he had heard much of him, and had immediately known what Tony used to bring his strange friend to life, when he saw him standing with the Avengers on the news, a small gem on his forehead gleaming in the New York heat. Loki shivered, both in fear the AI would know his identity, but also because he had pushed the Chatauri, the Tessaract—the Mad Titan—to the deepest recesses of his mind, and suddenly thinking of Vision now, made him remember much of which he wished not to.

   Tony made an expression like he was hiding something and was just about to come clean with the truth. Which as it turned out, is largely what it was. Tony clasped his hands together in preparation. “Okay, look, I was kind of hoping to fly you to Avenger’s Tower. I can’t risk you telling nurses and patients Iron Man threw you against a car.” His face looked guilty and embarrassed, like he knew this made him sound like a self-important douchebag. Loki didn’t say anything, he rarely had the volition to say much these days. After Tony realized he wasn’t going to say anything, he sighed in defeat, looking down at his feet momentarily. “It’s not…the Avengers are just… we can’t have bad publicity right now. And I hope you know I did _not_ mean to hurt you, I was trying…trying to help, I just…will you please let me look at that cut back at the tower? I’m begging you,” with his last few words a small, sheepish smile crept onto his face, his hands clasped together in mock prayer.

   Loki knew it was the wrong decision. Every nerve in his body was telling him it was the wrong decision. But he was exhausted, and stressed, and entirely overwhelmed, and he couldn’t think of an excuse to deny Tony Stark’s request. His brain felt sluggish as if it were barely functioning at all. He nodded once, any more may agitate the headache that was forming at the base of his skull. “Right…okay,” he said. “To the tower then, I guess.”

   Tony smiled at him, and simultaneously spoke into his helmet, requesting aid from Vision.

   When Vision arrived, landing gracefully on the concrete beside them, Loki couldn’t help but take a step back, away from him. Vision, intuitive as he was, noticed, but said nothing. Tony patted the AI on the shoulder affectionately in welcome, and gestured a hand at Loki, informing Vision he was to take him to the tower, but realized he didn’t know Loki’s name.

   Before he could inquire further, Loki supplied him with an answer. “Solomon…Sol, rather.” His voice was small and insignificant, and he could feel Vision’s eyes boring into him. He knew. He could see it in his face, he knew. Or at the very least he knew something was up. Maybe his guise only worked on those with flesh and blood, and not on—whatever Vision was. Maybe right now Vision could see him for Loki and was merely biding his time. His suspicions gained traction when Tony bid them farewell, informing “Solomon” that he’d likely see him at the tower, and left him alone with Vision.

   Visions hand slowly reached out, his jaw clenched tight, and the muscles of it flexed, his stare felt palpable on Loki’s skin, so much so that it was nearly painful to raise his head and look the AI in the eyes. Vision forced a thin smile and grabbed Loki by the bicep of his wounded arm. Loki hissed and flinched, trying to pull his arm out of Vision’s grasp, but his grasp was like steel. Loki looked at him pleadingly, trying to hank his arm free all the while.

   “You’re hurting me.”

“You, _Solomon¸_ have magic around you.”

   Loki internally sighed in relief. So, he didn’t know he was Loki, he just knew there was magic present, which didn’t mean much since two other Avenger associates used magic. Loki feigned ignorance, and to cherry the top, as it were, he let a bit of his old sarcasm seem through.

   “Are all the avengers as unstable as you? Because if so I think I rather skip the whole hush-hush stitches-at-the-tower ordeal.” Loki pulled his arm free, and Vision willingly allowed it.

   Vision narrowed his eyes. “Are you of this world?”

   Loki cocked an eyebrow. “No, I’m from mars, lovely place, you should visit sometime.” Loki was forcing himself to express feelings of annoyance and inconvenience rather that fear and panic.

   Vision rolled his eyes and went to grab Loki’s arm again, but he flinched and jerked it out of his reach, rewarding himself with a sharp, throbbing pain shooting up and down his arm. Loki audibly groaned, and leaned back against the trash can once more, the new pain making his vision focalize, a dark vignette enveloping his site. He felt Vision’s grasp once more, and nearly fell into the other man before Vision gripped him tightly and lifted him up into the sky. Loki’s heart was racing, and in his tired delusion he imagined Vision knew, and he was taking him back to be punished, or killed, taking him to Odin—taking him to the Titan.

   “Sir, I request with fervency that you cease your trashing, or risk my dropping you.” Vision’s smooth voice pushed its way through his mind. Loki hadn’t even known he was moving at all, much less ‘thrashing’.

   “You can’t take me back,” Loki slurred, his mind lulling between reality, and somewhere much deeper, and vaster.

   “I am taking you to Avengers tower to be assessed in the medical lab by Dr. Krovinksy.”

   Loki shook his head, a wrecked sob forcing its way out of his throat, unsolicited. “You can’t take me back.”

   “Sir…”

   “You can’t take me back,” he repeated, his voice weak and cracked, even though his disorientation the embarrassment of sounding so pathetic ached in his gut. “Just kill me, I won’t go back,” he whined. “Just kill me.” He felt himself falling deeper into the vastness beyond reality, until a thumb dug into his wound and dragged him back. Loki howled and pawed at the hand but it wouldn’t leave him. A part of him knew it was Visions hand, but that absolute grayed and became distant as if it were spiraling down a coiled tube, traveling far away from him, and then just as suddenly, and just as surely, he knew it was the Mad Titan, squeezing the life from his very bones, then it was Ebony Maw, his light, chaste touches still as painful and foreboding as his king’s. He must have lulled again because once more the thumb jabbed into his wound and rooted itself there.

   Then, as if no time had passed at all, they were at Avenger’s tower, and he could just barely make out Vision requesting aid to bring him inside, the former god was not heavy as his human self, but people are cumbersome things, and perhaps he had started _‘thrashing´_ again, as Vision had so eloquently put it.

   Another set of arms fumbled with his limp body, attempting to pull him upright, smacking his cheek and requesting he awaken, but he was awake, he could hear them, he was just too exhausted, too voice of energy, to open his eyes. The voice cursed, and he felt his feet being dragged across the floor, the same arms now under his own.

   “Why’d he pass out? What was your elevation?” It was Tony, he sounded worried, whether for the Avenger’s reputation, or for Loki—Solomon—was unbeknownst to him.

   “Sir, he lost consciousness before we left the ground,” Vision supplied calmly.

   Another set of hands, these ones warm, gentle, and distinctly a man’s helped Tony transfer him to a cold slab of stainless steel; a medical table no doubt. “Where’s Krovinsky?” Tony asked.

   “Dunno, couldn’t reach him,” the second man voiced. Loki didn’t recognize his voice, which struck him as odd since he would have thought he’d be able to recognize all the Avenger’s by voice, maybe he wasn’t an avenger at all.

   Tony cursed. Loki could sense him pacing the space of the room.

   “Uh, okay, this is okay, I think I can do this,” the second man said, his voice low and gentle.

   “You _think?_ ” boomed Tony.

   “Calm down, sheesh, yes, I think I can do it. I don’t practice medical barberry, Tony, but yeah, I’m remotely confident I can do it.”

   The second man made quick work of checking Loki’s vitals, and his pupil dilation. He lastly checked his reflexivity by place his hand in Loki’s and asking him to squeeze it if he was awake. Loki contemplated not responding, but ultimately complied and squeezed the hand, which earned him a curt reply of “good, because you’re concussed and if you had been asleep there would be a chance of slipping into a coma,” he said in a matter of fact tone while tearing away Loki’s shirt and assessing the cut on his arm. Loki tried to stay awake, but unable to open his eyes, it was difficult to force his mind to be alert and stay on. Slowly he began to nod off, even with the sharp slaps to the face, curtesy of Vision on behalf of the doctor, he could not stay awake.

   The vastness of another reality came rushing back at him, pulling him into its dimension with such a force that Loki felt worthlessly weak against it. Hands groped at him and he could no longer distinguish to whom they belonged. A panic swirled in his belly molten lava, steaming and hissing and readying to burn away his body to nothing. Quickly the pressure pushed the panic to his chest and it pooled there, struggling against the restraints that was his ribcage. He wanted to scream—to hid, but there was nowhere to go, he was exposed and vulnerable. His chest tightened, and his stomach twisted painfully. The hands were on him again, their warm skin burning his own. He wanted to get out—he needed to.

   Then finally nothingness. The previous void of turmoil and fear became one of black, flat, nothingness. Cool air entered his lungs, stinging, aching, but he was appreciative of it, it made him feel somehow clean.

Then, finally, he was asleep.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day started out peculiarly well, and ended peculiar, and rather unwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't even read through this before posting, so definitely no editing commenced. I'd like to say I'm sorry, but I'm too lazy to edit, and too lazy to be sorry. Enjoy.

 

Loki awoke with the fear that his guise had dissipated in the night, and he must have slept at least a night here, because the light coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows across the room was pink and full of shadows. He inspected his face and ran an unsure hand through his hair; short—still short. There wasn’t a mirror available, but enough of the appliances in the room were of stainless steel and his reflection shown in them enough to make out his light features, still angular, and sharp, but light in nature. His blue eyes blinked back at him and he couldn’t help the feeling of unease. He had been avoiding looking at himself after coming to this realm, he feared he would never be able to look like his old self again, so a spite began to form against his new, polar self. His cool, shaky fingers untangled themselves from his hair and ran pointlessly down his face until they plopped in his lap to join his other hand. Surely if anything had happened, if they had seen what he really looked like, if they had known it was him, they would have chained him to the bed. Slowly he convinced himself that nothing had gone wrong, and they didn’t know who he was—he was momentarily safe.

   The room was small and cold, everything was white and sterile and made of metal. The bed he was on was comfortable enough, he assumed it was where the avengers were taken when injured. He briefly imagined The Hulk sitting on the bed, waiting patiently to be stitched up. The thought made him internally smile mirthfully. All humor aside, he couldn’t stay in this room, he didn’t suffer from claustrophobia, but none the less he felt confined and the urge to move was overwhelming. Tentatively, he slid off the bed, careful to not make any noise, but before he could take a single step, a sharp pain stung his arm, and the machine behind him beeped loudly. He cursed and rushed the machine as if it were an enemy on a battlefield and pushed every button on it’s face but none of them seemed to quiet the contraption.

   “You trying to run away?” came a clear, too-loud voice from the doorway behind him.

   Loki startled and spun around, grabbing a pair of nubbed bandage scissors off the medical tray, and holding them defensively before him. Leaning nonchalantly against the door frame was Tony Stark: one hand raised in mock surrender, and the other holding a cup of coffee. The Avenger wore an anticlimactic ensemble made up of dark gray joggers, and a white t-shirt. The t-shirt was fitting, and Loki couldn’t help but appreciate the other man’s aesthetic appeal; he was short for a Midgardian, but nonetheless fit and attractive. Tony had dark features, and alert, watchful eyes, not unlike his own—or rather—his own _before_.

   “Gonna use that on me?” Tony said expectantly, sarcastically, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, while the rest of his face struggled to stay serious.

   Loki sighed and dropped the scissors back on the medical tray. Tony lurched forward and sauntered across the room, Loki watched him with a keen eye, he didn’t expect him to do anything, but one can never be too careful. The shorter man glanced at him once, smiled thinly, and turned off the monitor. Loki watched him still, the fear he harbored the day before about looking the Avenger in the eye was now gone, and replaced with curiosity, and his instinct to cause trouble. Tony stood near him briefly but the nervous energy radiating off Loki was nearly palpable, so he walked back to the door, and leaned against it as he once had.

   “Well, Vito, since you don’t speak…”

   “I speak.” Loki did not mean it to sound aggressive, but merely matter-of-fact, though he feared, from Tony's expression, that he sounded at least defensive.

   Tony raised an expectant eyebrow, but when Loki said nothing more, he continued. “Right… so you do… but since you don’t speak 90% of the time, I’d inform you that you’ve been asleep for two nights, so if you have anyone who was expecting you home the other night, I’d suggest calling them.”

   Loki chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, looking up through his lashes at the man before him, not with disdain—not really with any sort of emotion except exhaustion; doubly because pretending to be someone you’re not was both physically and mentally straining. He contemplated not answering at all, just detaching, stone-walling, and walking away, but something came over him, and he couldn’t do it. Or rather, something cracked away at the stone façade over his heart, and it was unknown to him what that ‘ _thing_ ’ was, but it worked effortlessly to unguard him. He couldn’t tell if it was Tony, or if it was his general loneliness and need for attention, or what, but whatever it was, it was crumbling his proverbial walls fast.

   Finally Loki dropped his gaze, and with much effort to make his voice unfeeling, he spoke, thumbing his palm all the while. “No, there is no one.”

   Tony made a small clicking noise with his tongue. “I don’t have family either,” he empathized, tapping his fingers absently on the steel medical desk.

   Tony looked as if he wished to say more, so Loki felt apprehensive to speak, but when Tony finally said nothing, he had no choice. “Well,” he began, sliding off the bed once more. “I should really get…”

   “Will I see you again?” Tony asked, taking Loki entirely off guard. Tony had said it quite urgently and seemed now to realize and back pedal. “What I mean is…I would like to… see you, that is… again.” Tony flashed him a smile, and Loki's stomach twisted in so many knots he thought he'd be sick.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Loki found himself nodding before he’d even thought it over. “I’d like that.” He couldn’t help the small mischievous smirk that graced the corners of his mouth. “Just perhaps not under the same circumstances.”

   Tony smiled. “Can I take you out? Do you wanna go out?” he stepped forward unconsciously. “You don’t…rather, we don’t… I mean, I’d like to, I would, but if that’s too…” The sound of Loki laughing stopped Tony in his tracks, and he smiled, he couldn’t help it, it was an inherent reaction to the sound, and he only wished he could hear it more often. “Does that mean yes?” Tony smiled victoriously.

   Loki’s cheeks reddened slightly as he settled down. “Does what mean yes?”

   Tony’s grin widened. “You laughing. Does that mean yes to a date?”

   Oh, shit, why was he doing this? This is insane, even if Tony himself didn’t figure it out, _someone_ would, Vision could…. _Vision_. Dread filled his gut with knots. Vision and Tony were inseparable, if Vision knew they were ever intimate, he would feel inclined to tell Tony he saw magic around Loki. Maybe that didn’t mean they’d know his true identity right away, but it would put them on the right track. And yet—he couldn’t find the will to refuse the scientist.

   “Er yes—yes I think I would quite like that.”

 

After some fussing the doctor whom had worked on him the night before (which Loki had found out was Bruce Banner, also known as the Hulk) they _“discharged”_ him, if one could call it that, and ushered him out the front door to a sleek black vehicle. Bruce and Tony had escorted him out, and he couldn’t help but stare at Bruce. He’d only ever seen him as the great hulking beast, and to see him so reserved and docile now was almost alarming. Suddenly he was paranoid that Tony might think him uninterested in the date, or his company in general, if he stared for much longer, so he tore his eyes away, and stepped ahead of them. Tony opened the back door of the car and motioned a hand forward implying that Loki should get inside.

   “I’ll see you…we’ll see each other, rather, uh…soon.” Tony’s cheeks flushed as he spoke. “Here’s my number, text me uh…text me you address and I’ll pick you up when…”Tony stopped, his lips downturned in thought, “I guess we never settled on a date. Tomorrow? That’s a Friday. Tomorrow night?

   Loki couldn’t help but smile bashfully at the genius playboy stumbling over himself like that. He nodded. “Tomorrow sounds just fine.”

   “Perfect… perfect, perferct…” Tony clapped his hands together nervously, “I’m gonna…gonna go ahead and stop saying the word ‘perfect’. Aright, have a good night, bud!” He said before closing the car door and walking back to where Bruce stood, a most pitiful expression on his face.

   The car pulled away, and with its exit Tony shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Bud? Did I just call him ‘bud’?” he said, appalled at himself.

   Bruce huffed a short laugh and patted Tony affectionately on the shoulder. “You definitely did,” he said, his laugh gaining a bit more confidence.

 

Loki had the driver drop him off at an apartment building a couple blocks from his own. His intuition wanted to trust Tony, but his experience implored him to trust no one. He knew to trust no one, he’d learned that thoroughly as a child. Even his own family—no, he must rescind that—Thor trusted him blindly, and to a mostly engulfing degree, he trusts Thor completely. Or, rather, he knew he _could_ trust Thor completely. His brother had his faults, but most of them were faulted by Loki, and only seen as faults because the God of Thunder had no imperfections, and that was a hard shadow to wallow in, which bred animosity.

   Once he knew he was a safe distance from the driver, he dropped the guise of _Solomon_ , and became Loki once more. To his relief, most of the New Yorkers had never seen his face during the attack, the Avengers did not have a picture of him, and thus far, had not released a drawing of his aesthetics to the public. So, walking the streets of New York was largely safe, which seemed all together strange. Strange that he could commit mass murder one day, and the next walk freely amongst them. Freely… whatever that meant…because he wasn’t really free, was he?

   Loki’s face down turned in physical disapproval of his own thoughts. All they achieved was to hinder him, and make him paranoid, and depressed, he needed to clear his mind, be on guard, prepared, and ready. What he was ready for ranged from an Avenger noticing him on the streets without his guise, to Odin finding him, and returning him to the dark pits of Asgard’s dungeon from whence he came. Loki physically shook his head as if to knock the thoughts out of his mind, and though it did not work in such a fashion, it did distract him long enough to smell the sent of food on there air. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he couldn’t help but with about dinner tomorrow night, and his date with Tony. How peculiar that was to ponder upon.

   Suddenly, while he was distracted with tentative thoughts of joy, the ground beneath him gave way and he fell into a black abyss wringed with angry red sparks. He felt as if he were falling for all eternity, there was no light, and no space for sound; his shouts of alarm went unheard even to his own ears. Then, just as suddenly as he had fallen into those great depths, an orb of light appeared like magic, penetrating the absolute darkness. Before he could complete a full thought, his body fell through the orb and landed hard on the corner of something—several somethings. His ribs crushed against something thing and rigid and unforgiving, multiple times, before he aching body thumped onto the hard ground. He let out a pained groan, and this time he could hear himself. He tried to curl into himself to protect his bruised ribs, but a heavy boot knocked his arms back out from under him.

   “Hello, _Loki.”_

  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Strange" things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per the ushe I didn't edit any of this, I haven't even read it post finishing it. Good luck, and cheers.

 

“I’ll be honest, I thought you were smarter than this,” a familiar voice said, the low baritone reverberating in Loki’s chest. Loki’s breathing was labored, he would liked to say he wasn’t afraid, but he was frozen in place, and couldn’t summon the courage to look up at his new capture. Eventually the energy around him changed and he could feel the person kneel just by his shoulder. “The God of Mischief…why, pray tell, would you come back to earth? How stupid could you possibly be?”

   The ground beneath him disappeared again, just to reappear seconds later, in a much darker room. The lurching of special traveling made him both very, painfully aware of who his captor was, and cultivated a horrible nausea that he feared would soon become unbearable. He had developed a sensitive equilibrium on his journey from Asgard to Earth, and since then had been avoiding anything that might upset it. The ordeal with Iron Man had prodded it a bit initially, but it seemed to dissipate later. But whatever he had avoided yesterday with Iron Man was tenfold today as the ground disappeared and reappeared for a third time, his stomach lurched, and he squeezed his eyes closed in an effort to still his mind.

   “You couldn’t have possibly thought no one would notice.” The toe of a boot caught him under the chin and gently lifted his head, though not enough for him to see anything more than the boot at hand, and the leg it was attached to. “Maybe you could’ve after all,” the man’s voice took on an air of contemplatively, though did not lose its natural nonchalant tone.

   The floor disappeared for a forth time, and when it reappeared Loki knew he couldn’t ease his mind, or his stomach, and the second his knees collided with the ground, his mouth salivated thickly, and just as he leaned up on an elbow, he wretched on the floor. This room was much lighter, wood floors, they’re nice, he thought—they _were_ nice.

   The man made a sound of disgust and took several audible steps backward.

   Loki’s body shivered with coldsweats and discomfort. This was so much worse feeling than what he’d experience previously, this was more like what he’d felt the first time when he finally arrived on earth, which had been debilitating for weeks. He tried to push himself up but all it served to do was make him sick once more. Stephen Strange was surely regretting kidnapping him now.

   The Doctor called for someone, but Loki’s blood was pulsing in his ears so loudly that he heard nothing but assumedly male voices. Warm hands were suddenly under his arms and Loki, in his confused state, tried to scramble away from the touch. To his surprise, it was not Doctor Strange, but his assistant Wong, who, with a solemn expression, kindly hushed him as if he were a distraught child. Loki had to admit, in his current state, he didn’t mind.

   With ease, he was lifted and sat down upon something relatively soft and cushioned, he couldn’t see what it was because he feared opening his eyes and being sick again. Instinctually, he curled into himself hoping the darkness it provided would calm his mind. But he never got the chance to see because the second he was nicely curled up; a hand pulled his arms away and lifted his chin with a hooked finger. Loki flinched and tried to pull away, but the other mage grabbed his chin roughly, squeezing just enough to get Loki’s attention.

   “Open your eyes,” Stephen demanded. Loki complied easily, but kept his eyes downcast, afraid if he looked up too quickly he’d vomit all over Strange and earn himself a harsher punishment than the wizard had originally had in mind. This was to no avail for Strange escalated his hold and grabbed Loki’s face, squeezing until he looked up at him. Loki counted his lucky stars he wasn’t sick again—or at least not just now.

   Strange stood above him, gripping his face tightly. The expression on his face was difficult to read, which surprised Loki, he was usually notably intuitive. But Strange looked vexed, vengeful, indifferent, and violent all at once, and in turn, Loki couldn’t make a reliable assessment of his predicament. “Why are you here?” Stephen asked, giving his chin a jerk.

   Loki gritted his teeth, he thought it must have looked like quelled anger, but in reality, it was a desperate attempt to not throw up. His eyes briefly flicked over the Doctor’s shoulder where Wong was standing some feet away, his body language was rigid and uniform, but his eyes were cloudy with the veil worn by those who thought much and worried more.

   Stephen’s lips parted, assumedly to repeat his question, but before he could Loki looked up at him, and tried to pull himself out of the Doctor’s grasp. “You brought me here,” he said, barely a whisper. He hadn’t meant to sound so pathetic, but his throat was sore, and dry, and he couldn’t muster more than that. He wished he hadn’t said anything at all, though, because all it earned him was a sharp slap across the face.

   “Why are you here on _Earth?”_ Strange clarified, grabbing Loki’s chin once more, and jerking it up so he would be forced to look up at him. Loki could feel Stephen’s magic pressing against his own, currently, much weaker magic; invading his mind—or rather—trying to. He knew it was only a matter of time before he got through, so the question remained, should he tell him verbally and risk not being believed, or let him enter his mind, and both find the answers to the questions he asks, as well as see the horrors and secrets he keeps there. Loki thought he wouldn’t have much of a choice here in a second because Strange was nearly inside. Loki’s magic had grown weak with his prolonged stay on Midgard, combined with using guises and cloaking spells to hide himself, he was rather weak in that department, and no match for Doctor Strange.

   Though letting the Doctor into his mind was, tactically, the better idea, when Loki felt his magic defenses slipping, his chest filled with dread, and his mind with panic. He tried to push the Doctor away, sputtering that he’d tell him whatever he wanted to know—but it was too late.

   _“Choose, boy,” a hollow voice slithered into reality, thick as if it were sticking to everything around it. Stephen slowly walked toward the direction in which he could feel energy. He was inside Loki’s mind—or rather—inside the god’s memories. “Choose, or I will choose for you,” the voice spoke again, this time the whimper of a second voice followed it. Strange came upon a cluster of impressively large boulders, he made his way through them, dragging his hands along the smooth stone as he went. There was a clearing just past them, a fire was built there, and roared soundlessly, adjacent to the fire pole protruding from the ground, its height endlessly ascending into the sky. A body was chained to an eyelet on the pole, its body hung limp save for the heaving of its chest. Dark hair hung lank in its face and over its shoulders, and though Strange could not see its face, he made the educated assumption that it was Loki, which surprised him for he had thought to find_ Loki _torturing someone, not the other way around._

_A bulbous faced creature soundlessly sauntered toward Loki. “Choose,” he said, lifting a hot iron rod toward Loki’s heaving belly and pressing it against his skin. Loki howled and writhed there, stuck in place by the chains around his wrists. Strange could smell his burning flesh and it made him sick to his stomach. The bulbous faced man put the iron back in the fire and leaned down to better look at his capture. “Child, all you must do is choose between Midgard, or your home—your family. That is all we ask of you.” His voice was sweet, as if he was indeed talking to a child. Loki wept freely, not strong enough anymore to hold it back, his body shook uncontrollably, he was sweating profusely, and shaking his head._

_“I cannot,” Loki choked out between sobs._

_The creature tutted his tongue soothingly, thumbing his cheek as if to be affectionate. But all the while his other hand reached back and gripped the iron rod. Loki saw this and screamed for it to stop, before it had even started, jerking at his chains and begging for him to kill him, but he did not. The bulbous faced man pressed the burning iron to the flesh of Loki’s belly once more, but this time, wrap a hand around the back of Loki’s head, and brought him to his shoulder as if to soot him, and drove the iron through the emaciated man. The pain must have reached such a devastating precipice because it drove Loki passed screaming in pain, to shocked silence. His mouth was agape but no sound came out, it opened and closed like a fish out of water, his legs thrashed, and his hands dug at his capture’s arms desperately._

_The creature pulled the iron free and through it in the general direction of the fire. “Choose!” he said, grabbing Loki by the hair and lifting his head up. “Choose!” he shouted again._

_Loki shook his head. “I-I c-can’t. P-please,” Loki wept. His wound bled despite likely being mostly cauterized. No matter who Loki had been, it was difficult for Stephen to watch him like this, it was difficult to know it was not something he could intervene on, his only relieving thought was that this had already happened, and that Loki had lived. That was a sentiment he thought he would never appreciate._

_The bulbous man dropped Loki’s head and stood up, dusting his hands of symbolically. “Fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “Asgard it is, I’ll be sure to say hello to your mother.” At this Loki’s had popped up, panic and fear apparent in his eyes._

_“No!” Loki shouted with more vehemence than Stephen had seen him have this entire time. “No, please—I—please…” Loki squeezed his eyes closed. Whatever the creature wanted to know, Stephen thought, Loki was about to tell him. “I—I’ll show you the way to Midgard.” Loki’s voice was quiet and defeated._

_The creature beamed happily, grabbing either side of Loki’s face and gently lifting it so he could see him properly. “What a good,_ good _boy you have turned out to be! Thanos will be only too happy to hear it.” He leaned in and kissed Loki’s temple, making Loki flinch and squirm. “You will come to think like us soon enough…” he patted Loki’s cheek gently. “You will soon understand the gravity of our Lord Thanos’ strength and sacrifice and come to adore him for it as we have—as I have.” Another chaste kiss on his forehead in closing before the bulbous man walked away and disappeared from site._

_Loki wept. And Stephen watched him. This was not what he had expected to find here in the recesses of the God of Mischiefs mind. Doctor Strange’s curiosity practically overwhelmed him and he couldn’t hold himself back from walking ahead; closer to Loki. The god wept uncontrollably, but for the most part, silently. All but for nearly incoherent babble that left his lips like poison. Stephen leaned in to better hear him._

_“Norns,” he mumbled, “Norns if you can hear me, p-please—please just kill me,” he wept. “Please, I b-beg of you—kill me now before…” but he didn’t finish, he couldn’t, the pain and exhaustion drove his mind into unconsciousness._

The moment Loki passed out, Doctor Strange was dragged back to reality. Kneeling once more in his home, he lost his balance in the shock of returning and toppled backward, sprawling on his hands and buttock, his chest heaving chaotically, eyes wide with shock, mouth agape, not knowing what to say—how to relay to anyone what he had seen.

Once he got his bearings he focused his eyes and looked at Loki. The god, to his surprised, was curled in on himself on the sofa—crying. Strange watched him with curiosity at first. This man—this god—who had tried to overtake New York only a few years ago—was reduced to tears on his couch, in his home. Though now he questioned even that. Had he tried to take over New York of his own volition? After seeing into Loki’s minded, he both doubted the validity of just that, as well as—he couldn’t help but hope to be wrong about the man. Seeing a person in so much agony, so desperate that they wished for death, well, he couldn’t help but root for them. Stephen hadn’t always been a fan of the underdog, but he had become one lately.

   Loki his hid face behind his arms which were crossed behind his legs; pulled up against him in hopes that the seclusion would provide some semblance of comfort. He had stopped crying, but his chest still hiccupped while he tried to regulate his breathing. Stephen sighed and attempted to place a comforting hand on Loki’s shoulder, but was met with a violent flinch, followed by the god’s head popping up, eyes wide with fear.

   Strange pulled his hand back and popped them both up in mock surrender, trying to show the god he meant no harm, he even took a step back to boot. “Apologize—I won’t hurt you,” he reassured, but Loki didn’t look convinced. Stephen tentatively made his way to the other side of the sofa. Loki’s eyes were downcast but never left him; watching him carefully. Strange slowly sat on the couch, steepling his hands in his lap, trying to only watch Loki in his peripherals.

   “I do,” Strange cleared his throat and tried again. “I _do_ need to know why you’re back on earth, though.” He dared a glance at Loki, but the god hadn’t moved an inch, it was barely noticeable now if he were even breathing. “What I—what I saw was convincing of _why_ you attacked New York some years ago, but it doesn’t explain why you’re in New York right now.”

   Loki curled up tighter, retreating further into himself. “Why don’t you just _invade_ my mind again—that worked just fine.” Perhaps it was meant with malice or spite, but it came out tired and tentative as if he were afraid to have said it but couldn’t make himself stop talking. His voice was worn and cracked, and Strange realized how absolutely exhausted the god must be. Even if he were only imprisoned in Asgard (admittedly it was unbeknownst to Strange what Loki’s treatment had been like back home) and nothing more, he still endured torture before that by whomever resided in the memory he had seen. Attacking New York had obviously not been of his own volition, but he wordlessly accepted punishment for it anyway. Why had he not told someone—anyone—about he predicament? He thought to ask just that.

   “Loki—if you can’t tell me that—at least tell me why you didn’t defend yourself? Why did you not tell your side of the story?” Strange watched him with compassion but felt suddenly stupid when the god raised his head and provided Stephen with an expression so full of mocking and vexation that he nearly winced in reaction to it.

   “I am the trickster god of lies and mischief. Who…” he trailed off, cleared his throat, and tucked his head back against his legs. “Who would have believed me?” came the small, muffled voice. Strange said nothing, but watched him carefully, struggling so see through whatever trick this was—and it had to be a trick, hadn’t it. Magical guises and facades were evaporated upon entry to the Greenwhich home, so he at least knew his appearance was true. The Doctor took a moment to truly look at that appearance now; the young god was tall, but painfully thin, dark circles around his eyes, gaunt cheeks, he looked desperately tired, and not the “I rather need a nap” sort, but the “I think I’d like to sleep and not wake up” sort. This gave him an idea for a question the god may be more receptive to, and in turn it might eventually answer the Doctor’s other two questions.

   “Loki,” his voice was hushed and gentle, but the god still flinched. “Loki, what was your treatment like in Asgard?” The god did not answer. “Loki, I…” but Strange was cut off by a whirring in his mind, then suddenly, just as before, he was sucked into a whirling vortex of orange light, before being thrown into what he could only assume was a memory. The only difference this time was that Loki had brought him here, he hadn’t forced his way in.

_Strange was somewhere dark and damp, the dungeons no doubt. He quickly assessed his surroundings and looked for Loki. Unlike before there was no distinguishable noise that was most definitely Loki, or his assailant, the dungeons were a cacophony of ruckus; shouting, singing, and clanging of metal against metal and rock. He walked further until a sliver of light split across the hall indicating the end of—wherever he was._

_Someone bustled past him and he moved out of the way instinctively, even though he knew they couldn’t see him. He found Loki’s cell easily enough thanks to the fact that seemingly every other inmate was jeering and shouting at him, pounding against the cell walls with an untapped wrath which Strange hoped no one would ever experience. Strange walked toward the direction in which they all unanimously pointed and hurtled their insults, to find a room, much like the others in design, but empty save for a shirtless character lying curled up on the floor in the furthest corner of the room. Doctor Strange passed through the energy shield that made up the front of the cell with ease and made his way toward the resting creature. But he wasn’t resting at all, his muscles were tense and twitching, his shoulders and legs shook violently. He thought for a moment that he was silent but as he got closer he could hear both gentle sobbing, and incoherent words hurriedly muttered. There were lashes across his back, great long, wide lacerations which oozed blood and the fluids of infection. Loki’s hair was long, far past his shoulders, indicating this must be several years into his imprisonment._

_Stephen was overcome with pity that he couldn’t help but let himself kneel by the man, and reach out to him, perhaps he could calm him if only in retrospect. But before his palm pressed against the fevered skin of the god, a hissing sound announced the retreating of the energy shield, a slapping leather announced the arrival of what sounded like at least two men. Stephen stood and turned around just as one of the men stepped through his apparated body, and kicked Loki in the ribs, making several of his wounds bleed profusely._

_“Now look what you’ve done? There’s blood…” the man kicked him again, “all over…” another kick made a horrid crunching sound and Loki, previously silent, yelped painfully, “my_ fucking _boots!” another crunch. Loki tried desperately to press himself into the wall, to escape the onslaught of abuse, but there was nowhere to go. It made Stephen sick to watch, especially knowing his magic didn’t work here, and there was nothing he could do._

   With another whirring in his ears, and beams of orange light appearing around him, he was dragged back to reality. This time when he came to Loki was looking at him, his eyes betrayed both his shock and fear. Both of them were breathing hard, watching each other. “Why did you let me in?” Stephen breathed, still trying to regulate himself after that ordeal. It was exhausting and discombobulating to enter someone’s memories.

   Loki dropped his gaze from him and chewed on the inside of his lip nervously. “I didn’t.”

   Strange frowned. Well that’s curious, isn’t it. He’d never accidentally entered someone’s mind before, he wasn’t even sure how that was possible. He asked Loki how he could have done that, and for a moment he thought the god would not answer him, but after some time he finally leaned up, scrubbing a shaky hand over his face. “You left, essentially, a fingerprint or—or a trail, if you will, of your magic in my mind.” Loki glanced at the Doctor before settling his eyes back down on his broken hands cupped in his lap. “Rather sloppy of you, really,” he said, much quieter than before. Stephen couldn’t help but let a fond smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

   Stephen sighed and stood from the sofa, running his hands over his face before perching them on his hips. “Well, Odinson, what are we do to with you?”

   Loki rubbed the heels of either palm into his red-rimmed eyes, puffy from exhaustion and crying. He wrapped his arms around his shoulder and glanced cautiously up at Stephen. “Could let me go.”

   Stephen smiled thinly. “That was a nice way of asking if it’s time to call the Avengers yet.” A shadow passed over Loki’s face. “To call Thor,” he finished finitely, clasping his hands together anxiously. He couldn’t be sure why he felt anxiety, but it was overwhelming, and a part of him knew it wasn’t his own—he was anxious _for_ Loki. It was a familial sense of protectiveness that he couldn’t shake, and he most assuredly couldn’t explain.

   “I escaped Asgard and thought…” Loki glanced up at him and shrugged. “I’m not sure—I thought everyone would assume I’d never come back here, and…”

   “Therefore, not look for you here. Or, at least, not look very hard.” Strange finished, and Loki nodded, affording him another watchful glance.

   Stephen watched Loki and felt that sense of fondness and defensiveness over him grow rapidly. Maybe it was from sharing magic, from seeing his memories at such a vulnerable time, and moreover, while Loki was weak, that created this bond. Perhaps it was one magic user connecting out of desperation to another magic user and wordlessly begging for help. Whatever it was, he could not deny its existence, the urge to protect and defend and nurture were far to strong.

   “Come, you must eat, and sleep.” Stephen smiled down at him and Loki could hear the sincerity in his voice. Strange offered a hand, slowly, cautiously, to Loki, which was equally as cautiously accepted. Once he was stood aright, Strange squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “I won’t tell anyone you’re here just yet. At least not until I have all the answers.”

   Loki was shocked, and relieved, this was not what he had expected was going to happen. The moment he realized who kidnapped him he’d assumed the Avengers were already notified and would be on their way to gut him. He didn’t trust the doctor, but something in him wanted to. Unlikely allies were rather his forte, maybe that’s what Strange would be—an unlikely ally.


End file.
